


The Manual of an Archer's Heart (Written by Phil Coulson)

by StonyAvengerGirl16 (CharmedBritannia)



Series: The Manuals For Exasperated Suitors [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A little angst, Background Steve/Tony, Fluff, M/M, SHIELD boyfriends, but phil loves him anyway, but that's to be expected, but the fluff balances it out, clint is a little shit, insecure!Clint, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 11:46:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2771831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharmedBritannia/pseuds/StonyAvengerGirl16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the manual for taking care of and obtaining your archer. In it you will find helpful tips to make sure that you are successful. Side notes from Agent Romanov are included.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. STEP ONE

The Manual of an Archer  
By: Philip Coulson (at the insistence of Agent Romanov)  
CLASSIFIED-Level 5 required

Step One: Your archer will most likely always be difficult. The levels may vary ( AR: from little shit to emotionally stunted), but the main idea is to stay with them during those times. It will gain their trust.  
\-----------

He could not strangle him. 

He would not strangle him. 

With a great amount of effort, I kept my voice even, and my face passive. Standing before me was one Clinton Francis Barton, or 'Clint', as he preferred to be called. I had just recruited him a few weeks ago, and his skills were already much higher than other recruits, and even some seasoned agents. His natural ability and peak physical condition helped immensely, and all we really had to do was fine tune his skills and give him a proper education on some subjects, which he conquered quickly.

But it was mostly balanced out by his insubordinate nature.

He was loud, rugged, sarcastic, and didn't listen to a damn thing anyone had to say. He had been bouncing from handler to handler, having given them some reason to dump him back into the pool. 

And now he was in my office. Nick had sent me an email only a few hours prior, eloquently saying that "the fucker is all yours. Good luck."

I'm going to strangle him.

I gave him a once over. He still had his field suit on, and his quiver was still on his back. His arm gaurds were replaced with bandages, and he looked like the physical embodiment of bored irritation.

"So, care to tell me what happened?"

"Why the fuck do you care? Just bounce me to whatever sad sucker who has to deal with me now. I know Richards put in a request for me to be tranferred."

I sighed.

"You're looking at him, Barton. And I think I deserve to know what brought you into my care."

He stared at me, and finally slumped in defeat.

"Richards couldn't see the targets, but I could. I told him I could get the shot. He ordered me to stand down, and wait until he got visual. But they were about to leave! So I ignored his orders and engaged, but managed to make the shot."

I leaned back. 

"You made the shot?"

He glared.

"I told you. I always make the shot."

"Well, as long as you do, their will be no problems between us. But if it poses too much danger to you, or anyone else around you, you will wait a second and tell me the probability. And don't give me that look, I know you can run numbers as fast as most of our staff, despite what you tell people."

He nodded, giving me a once over that I didn't care about not one bit.  
\-------------- 

People think I'm some sort of super android, built simply to follow orders and do paperwork. 

The current situation doesn't really help.

The longest a handler had worked with Barton was two weeks, during that time going on a field assignment. I had somehow kept him in line for two months.

They thought I was some some sort of superhuman.

But the thing is, Barton's not that bad. Yes, he mouths off, and yes, he will give heart attacks during assignments (he has a nasty habit of jumping off of high buildings), and he treats medical like it, ironically, has the plague, and his after mission reports are atrocious, but overall, he really isn't awful.

I could tell that most of the problem came from the other end of it. 

Barton has a big mouth, but he is actually fairly funny. He just lets it loose during assignments, when everyone else is tense. He's used to these situations (as he was sort of a hit man before I recruited him), so he doesn't feel a lot of the stress. He's using his sarcasm to keep calm. He is insubordinate, but only when he's not listened to. If you let him explain, and basically give him respect, he'll respect you also. 

And you can tell the man isn't as large and rough as he wants you to believe, if you pay attention. He loves the vents for some reason, especially the ones over my office.

I had to ask about that.

"Barton."

I wasn't worried about him hearing me.

"Yeah, sir?"

"Why are you up there?"

"...Do you want me to come down?"

"No, it's fine, I just wanted to know why you're up there."

"It's quiet here, sir. And I can see everything throughout the building."

"Makes sense. Just asking. Have you done your field report yet?"

"Awww, Coulson!"

"Field reports. Now agent."

"Ugh, fine. Goddamnit, I hate those."

So we established a routine. I get to my office, and put down my coffee. After I work for a while, I usually get up, stretch, and head to the cafeteria. Upon my return, I place one plate on the couch, and the other on the desk. Within minutes, Barton jumps down from the vent, holding more coffee (somehow managing not to spill). We exchange, and he climbs back up. If we go on a mission, there is usually a report on my desk the next day. We continue this for weeks, and Nick calls me into his office one day.

"I don't know what you did, but Barton is actually behaving to an extent. His reports are coming in regularly, he only mouths off to a few of his superiors-"

"With all due respect, sir, those he does act insubordinate with don't respect him either-"

"I know, Phil. God, he's got you wrapped around his little finger, and you've got him like a loyal dog."

All I could do was roll my eyes.

"We just work well together, sir."  
\-----------


	2. STEP TWO

Step Two: Always stay calm when dealing with your archer. As stated by Agent Romanov, they may be somewhat emotionally stunted, and may also have low self-esteem (AR: No matter how utterly ridiculous it may seem). If you must chastise them, remain calm at all times.  
\------------

Clint did irritating things sometimes. 

Most of them were easy enough to brush off: his habit of dropping out of vents, terrifying new recruits, tormenting other agents, his refusal to turn in proper field reports on time. Irritating, yes. Truly detrimental, no.

And then there was his unspoken alliance with Tony Stark. The two of them caused hell wherever they went, which caused a mountain of paperwork, which caused a very grouchy Phil Coulson. Just the thought of those two together had him bent out of shape (AR: you're jealous, Coulson.). Despite what others might think (AR: what I know.), he simply did not enjoy the after effects of their friendship.

Like now.

Stark was on the helicarrier to discuss some upgrades, and of course Clint had to drop out of the vent above them and hijack the conversation.

"Stark, you asshole! You didn't tell me you were coming!"

"Same to you, bitchface! I thought you had a mission or something."

"Don't even start, fucktruck. You're all up in SHIELD's files. You know when I have a mission."

And of course they proceeded to walk down to the lab, leaving Nick, well, furious, and myself rather put out.  
\----------------

*BAM BAM BAM*

The pounding on my door startled me out of my funk. Nick knew the door code, Clint and Natasha never used the door, and Stark would just use his AI to break the door code keypad. I straightened up, fixing my appearance before pressing the button unlocking the door. 

"Yes?"

A junior agent stood before me, pale as a sheet. 

"SIR...uh....oh god....it's Agent Barton, sir."

I was out of my office within seconds. 

"Where is he?"

"Oh god...medical, sir. There was an accident."

"Walk with me. What happened?"

"Mr. Stark and Agent Barton were testing out some new Avengers training program, but one of Agent Barton's exploding arrows accidentally hit one of Mr. Stark's repulsor blasts-"

"What?!"

"They said not to worry, that they were taken down a notch, sir. But one of Agent Barton's arrows caught Mr. Stark by suprise, and he put his hands up instinctively, but accidentally fired the repulsers. The blast made contact with the tip of the arrow, which set of some sort of extremely concentrated explosion. Mr. Starks armor is torched, and Agent Barton fell from the ledge he had perched himself on, and the explosion torched is grappling cable."

Throughout the recap, he had become more and more tense, and by the end he was ready to snap. He reached medical, and Dr. Dillian, Clint's assigned physician, gave him a look of exasperation. 

"Agent Barton is very lucky he's so resilient. A cracked rib, mild-to-moderate concussion, various bruises, and worst of all, a fractured right ulna and three broken fingers on the right hand. He looks as bad as he sounds. We have him on pain medication. Go easy on him when he wakes up."

All the frustration left in a sudden rush. Broken fingers? A broken arm? When he woke up he was going to be _hysterical.  
\-------------_

He was right, of course. Once they weaned him off of the heavy medication, he started to awaken. I tried to keep him calm, to tell him he was alright, but he took one look at his right arm and started to panic. 

"Oh my _God_ , Coulson." 

"It's fine, Barton. You're fine." 

"My _arm_ Coulson." 

"You're alright, Agent." 

__"Coulson, my _fingers_."_ _

__"Barton."_ _

"How am I supposed to _shoot_ like this?" 

__"You don't-"_ _

__"I have to. It's my thing. Coulson I have to, that's why I'm at SHIELD, oh God I'm going to be _terminated_ -"_ _

__"CLINT."_ _

__He stopped mid-panic attack to stare at me._ _

__"What am I going to do, Coulson?"_ _

__I stared straight back._ _

__"You're going to rest. You're going to stay with me until your injuries mend. And then you will come back to a job that hasn't changed. If we got rid of an Agent everytime they got injured, we'd have no one left."_ _

__"But my shooting is why I'm here-"_ _

__"You are here because you are an excellent Agent whose skills surpass your flaws. You are one of my assets, and that won't change. Just heal so you can get back to doing the job you enjoy."_ _

__He smiled._ _

__"Do I really have to stay with you, sir?"_ _

__"Will you remember to take your pills on schedule and stay still?"_ _

__"Probably not."_ _

__"Then yes. Yes you do."_ _

__With that he got up, smoothing out his suit and tie. As he was leaving, he heard a small "thank you."_ _

__He gave an equally as small "you're welcome" as he headed towards the labs. No doubt Stark was there, and he needed to be lectured as well.  
\--------_ _


	3. STEP THREE

Step Three: Trust your archer's judgement. They will no doubt have very keen instincts, and if they feel strongly enough about it, they're probably right.  
\--------

Shit. 

This is what I get for not listening to Clint. 

It had been a few weeks since his accident, and the doctor had reluctantly given him the all clear. He had been moping through my apartment, grumbling and whining and moaning. But I will admit that, despite all that, I'll miss him. Having someone there when you get home really brightens your demeanor. 

But I know it wouldn't last, and it made me happy to see Clint so excited. 

Which was why I foind it odd he was so reserved and hesitant about the assignment.

He had told me he had a bad feeling about this mission, that it was too convenient that we had spotted them somehow after months of them eluding us. I had basically brushed him off, saying that that wasn't enough to convince Fury to call it off.

This is what I get.

So our team had set off for Barcelona, Spain. After spending two days preparing,  
we had approached the seemingly empty warehouse. Clint had set up a nest in the rafters, and Natasha had taken cover behind a wall of crates. Everything was silent for a few minutes, before the sound of gunfire rang through my earpiece.

"Agents! Status!"

"Kinda busy, sir!"

"Multiple men, at least five, all armed. Heavily."

"Is there anyway to get out of there?"

"I'm looking-SHIT!"

"Barton? Barton?!"

"He's fine, sir. The rafter he was on collapsed."

"I'm alive. Probably broken, but alive."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. This mission had gone from suspicious to FUBAR in record time. 

"Agents Barton and Romanov need backup yesterday, people! Move!"

I sprinted through the door of the warehouse, ducking behind a pile of metal tubes. Before I knew it, my assests were next to me, breathing heavily.

"With all due respect, what...the hell...are....you doing....in here, sir?"

"This is not...a place...I'd recommend you be...right now."

I know. But you are my responsibility, and I don't shirk my responsibilities."

"Of...fucking...course you don't."

After a while, the rain of bullets stopped, and then we burst into action. Natasha jumped from opponent to opponent, deadly efficient in every move. Clint had abandoned his sniper rifle for his new composite extendable bow. Every arrow hit it's mark, and I rolled my eye when the inevitable snark came.

"Hah! Ten down in four minutes! Beat that, woman!", he snarked as he put an arrow through a thug's eye.

"Please. My record is sixteen in three."

"You lying-"

"I'm not-"

"Yes, you are-"

"Don't be a sore loser-"

"Children! Focus please. We've bottle-necked the main wave. Get the stragglers."

"Aye aye, captain."

"Roger that."

"Haha. Captain, Roger. You fanboy, I know you get that joke-"

"Agent."

"Shutting up now."  
\------------

"Agent Barton, can I see you for a minute?"

"Sure, sir."

He followed me into my office, and sat down on the chair I bought specifically for him. Agent Romanov has one too, and they usually spend their time after a mission doing their reports there. 

"What's wrong, sir?"

I sighed and loosened my tie.

"I should have listened to you. You've proved in the past that your intuition is normally correct. I shouldn't have brushed you off like that."

"Sir, with all do respect, there wasn't anything to really do. You don't assign our missions. You go where the higher ups tell you to. It's fine."

I took in the bruises coloring his face, the debris in his hair, and the coating of wood splinters on his body. He also took in the giant grin that lit up his face when he nodded. 

Oh no.

That's going to be a problem.

Then Natasha sauntered in from behind him (how does she do that?), handed him coffee, and all three of them relaxed, happy to be back.


	4. STEP FOUR

Step Four: give your archer space when they need it. Confronting them will only put them on edge and give you opposite of what you want, which is for them to talk to you (AR: especially if it's you they want to avoid). Let them come to you when they see fit.  
\---------

Phil cracked his neck and stretched his joints. It was almost ten o'clock at night, and he had been here since five forty-five A.M. He hadn't left his office, either.

He stared mournfully at Clint's empty chair. If he stared long enough, he could imagine Clint's deep laugh, his stubborn pout, and his sweet smiles. Natasha's chair was empty too.

Why does he do this to himself? 

It was his own fault. 

After everything went to hell following Loki's arrival, somehow he had wound up stabbed through the chest. It had officially been called, but of course Nick would be able to get around that. That's why he woke up weeks later to a horrible pain in his chest and a nasty scar.

Nick was adamant that the Avengers (that's what they called themselves) not know he was alive. That his death be the thing that pulled them together. It worked.

Of course, that was until the Avengers stormed his hospital room, looking torn between relief (Steve), concern (Natasha), and disbelief (Clint). 

Oh, God, Clint.

He was red in the face, and looked close to tears. But the set of his jaw was all Barton, the man who stood toe-to-toe with death on a regular basis, and won.

Everyone else but Natasha and Clint were talking a mile a minute, and out of nowhere, Clint shot up out of his seat and ran out, slamming the door so hard it broke the glass.

He hadn't seen him since.  
\-------------

The Avengers had offered him an apartment in Avengers Tower, but he couldn't possibly, not with Clint. He needed to give him space. He needed to let him heal.

He couldn't do that to him.

So he packed up his things, and started the drive home. 

He hadn't slept in God knows how long. All he could remember was those few weeks when Clint stayed with him. He thought about just going to a hotel when he saw a shadow through his window.

Alright then.

Drawing his sidearm, he crept up the stairs leading to his apartment. Silently, he entered, looking around. He saw a shadow in the living room, and switched on the lights. 

The breath was knocked out of him.

Clint.  
\-----------

What was he doing here? How? Why?

I lost count of how long I stood there, staring.

"Are you going to come sit down, or are you going to stand there for the rest of the night?"

"Are you really here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I've been imagining you here gor the past few weeks. Are you real?"

"Get over here, Coulson."

"Phil."

"What?"

"Please...call me Phil."

"Alright, then. Come sit down, Phil."

I came over and collapsed on the couch. He seemed real. His warmth was enough to convince him. And his earthy, yet honey-like smell that always clung to him, no matter how filthy he got.

"So you're alive, huh?"

"Yes."

"Why did you lie to me? Don't you trust me? I thought...I thought we were special, Phil. I trusted you completely. How could you?"

His voice broke on the last sentence, and almost against his will he broke out into tears.

It felt like it was ripping out his heart.

"I thought...you were different. I trusted you not to leave. But then I wake up from Loki's spell, and the person I probably trusted most was dead! Do you know how much it hurt to look at you, in that hospital bed, and know that weeks of grief, tears, and anger were for nothing?"

His control snapped, and he pulled him into a hug. Clint's tears soaked his shoulder, but all he could focus on was this fragile being in his arms, how strong he is physically, but frail emotionally. How much he's been hurt, how much he's been through, how much he's survived.

"Clint, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't imagine how much I hurt you. Just...can you ever forgive me?"

"I can, Phil."

"Good. Because, Clint, I...love you. I have since I realized that that insubordinate delinquent was a brave, broken soul who had so much to fight against but still won. All I could think about when I learned that you thought I was dead, was how you were going to find someone one day, and that you'd forget about me."

He had been uncharacteristicly silent throughout Phil's confession, and he looked down and saw Clint grinning at him.

"Phil...you can't be serious. You realize that I was just waiting for the day that you settled down with someone educated, and wonderfully attractive. Someone who deserved you. But... I love you, too. Asshole."

It was then that I did something that I'd been dreaming of. I kissed Clint Barton. It was salty, and his lips were sort of chapped, but they were firm and within minutes it had escalated to something both of us had been waiting for.  
\-----------------------

Once we were done, I e-mailed Nick saying I was using some of my vacation days, and he e-mailed me back saying to 'double that shit, you've earned it, enjoy your boy-toy, because you sound like you've gotten laid even through e-mail.'

I rolled over after powering down my laptop (which I will not be using for a while), and threw my arm over Clint's waist.

"Fuck, Phil. Where do you keep that much enthusiasm?"

"Just...there I guess."

"God, even my brain feels well-fucked."

"Shut up and cuddle, Clint."

"Night Phil."

"Night Clint."  
\-------------------


	5. FINAL CHAPTER: STEP FIVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOT LAST CHAPTER! This will be an epilogue of sorts.

Step Five: Show your archer you love them (AR: Get to it, Phil.).  
\-------------

The sunlight filtered through their partially tinted window. Phil opened his eyes partially, and leaned up halfway.

"Good morning, Mr. Coulson. It is eight fifty-two A.M on Monday, November twelfth. The weather will be mild today, but I must suggest an umbrella if you are planning on leaving the tower."

"Thanks, JARVIS."

He hissed as a shot of pain went through his chest when he sat up fully.

"Waa...was wron'?"

He chuckled a bit at Clint's muffled pillow voice.

"Nothing, honey. Go back to sleep."

"Is...somethin'. C'mere."

He obeyed, and rolled flat on his back. He almost choked on a groan as Clint's skilled fingers massaged his chest. They relieved the knot of tissue under his scar, and the warmth eased the ache. He melted into the mattress after Clint finished.

"Better?"

"Very. Thanks, love."

"Stop being sappy, honeybunch."

"What do you mean, sugarplum?"

"You know what I mean flufflebunny."

"Flufflebunny? Really?"

"I'm pre-coffee Clint. Take what you get."

He nuzzled into his neck, the part where he discovered quite a ticklish patch of skin.

"I love all of you."

"Oka-ay! Tha-ha-t's enough, you wi-hin, Je-hee-sus, let me uhu-p!"

He rolled off of him, and Clint used this oppurtunity to dash into the bathroom. Phil followed at a much calmer pace. 

They were both going to the same place, anyway.  
\--------------

After a shower, which turned into another tickle session, which turned into shower sex, which turned into another shower, they were both praising the Tower's never-ending stream of hot water.

They walked into the usual sight; all of the Avengers in various places. 

Thor was stuffing his face rather messily. Steve was also stuffing his face, though neater, and fighting off Thor for his breakfast. Tony was sitting next to Steve, who would pass Tony actual food, which he would absent-mindedly eat while doing something on a tablet, until Steve got fed up, yanked the tablet, and silenced Tony with a kiss when he started to protest. Tony sulked in acceptance of the fact that his tablet was not coming back, but seemed willing to trade it for kisses from Steve. Bruce and Natasha were drinking tea on the sofa, talking about something or another.

Natasha gave him a knowing look that caused heat to bloom on the back of his neck. 

"About damn time! I was about to eat your pancakes, Birdbrain!"

"Touch my pancakes and I'll string you up by your dick with a bowstring on top of your pentouse ledge, asshole!"

"Steve won't let you!"

"Coulson will help me!"

He and Steve shared a look before rolling their eyes at their respective partners. 

\------------------

They were just relaxing when the alarm went off. 

"Awww."

"Christ."

"I don't wannnaaa.."

"Battle calls us, my friends!"

"Avengers! Assemble!"  
\------------

Quite a sight met them on scene.

"Are you guys seeing what I'm seeing?"

"Depends, Iron-ass. Are you seeing a bunch of bubble-gum pop princesses blowing shit up all over Manhattan?"

"Yep."

"Then yes."

"What is even..."

"Listen, Cap, sweetie. These look like magical girls gone bad. Magical girls are a perverts dream come true."

"What?!"

"Not literally! Just...they're the perfect girl. They are literally what teenage boys usually dream of at night. Short skirts, big boobs, bright eyed-faces."

"Chatter off the comms, people. We know what they are, how do we stop them? Are they human?"

"Coulson, I don't know-oh GODDAMNIT."

"Tony? TONY?"

"Cap, I'm fine. Look out for the purple one. Her spell thing shoots some gummy, jello-like substance. It jammed my left repulser glove. I'm grounded for a second."

"MY FRIENDS! BE WARY, AS THE MAGICIAN RESEMBLING FLORA HERSELF HAS THE ABILITY TO CONJURE LIVELIHOOD AND BATTLE-LUST INTO THE FLORA OF YOUR REALM!"

"...What?"

"The green one makes killer plants, Clint."

"Thanks, Nat."

"So purple makes gum, green makes evil plants, what else. Make it simple."

"The blue one freezes things."

"You alright, Captain Rogers?"

"Yep. Her magic doesn't work on my shield."

"Good."

"The yellow one makes acid."

"Acid? Really, Widow?"

"Well, kind of. The light shines on something and it starts to corrode."

"Okay, she's the most dangerous. Deal with her first."

"Uhh...the orange one makes fire, boss."

"She's second."

"Where's the pink one?"

"What pink one? Are you airborne yet, Iron Man?"

"No, almost. But in every single show I've glanced at -don't even start Barton- there's always a pink one."

And then she was there. 

She was cackling horribly, blowing up buildings with blasts of pink sparkles, and shrieking at the same time.

"Behold your future queen! We, the Rainbow Brigade, will have our vengeance! Those who denied us will-"

She was cut off as repulsors fired on her. 

"I'm back, and tired of you already. Guys, get them to hit each other!"

"What?"

"Get them to hit each other! They are obviously upset that people hurt their feelings, so get them to hit each other!"

By dodging specifically aimed attacks, reflecting blasts, and taunting and baiting, they Rainbow Brigade was turned into a shrieking, squealing mess. Yellow toasted Green's plants, Orange melted Blue's ice sceptre, and Purple got gunk in Pink's eyes. While they were fighting, the Avengers to the chance to knock their 'mystical charm items' out of their hands, returning them to normal adolescent girls, whining and wailing included.

As the cops dragged the girls away, everyone hitched a ride with someone back to the tower: Steve and Tony, Natasha and Thor, and Clint, Phil, and the Hulk. 

Everyone decided to take a shower, then lunch, then movie. As they all dug into their Chinese, Phil realized, snuggled up to Clint, that this was his life.

Yes, this was quite a life.

But it was a good life.  
\-----------------


End file.
